The Killer Inside
by TheGirlfromGryffindor
Summary: Cato and Clove, and their relationship. It's not going to be romantic, so look else where for that. It's just their childhood, and then it moves into training and the Arena. I'm pretty dreadful at summaries.
1. Chapter 1

"Maridel! Thanks for stopping by, darling!" Alethea smiled happily as her friend as Maridel and her three year old daughter, Clove, stepped into the foyer of the large District 2 home. Alethea turned and called into the house for her son, "Cato! Clove and her mother are here, why don't you come say hi?" The five year old boy came bounding into the room, his light blond hair as unruly as ever. Clove immediately ran over, her short, dark hair lifting in the breeze.

"Hey, Clove."

"Hi, Cato."  
"Mommy, can Clove and I go play?" Cato's young voice carried easily through the marble room.

"Of course, sweetie. But stay out of the weapons room, and your father's study. The district mayors are al having a meeting with President Snow today, so you can't disturb him. Alright?" the two children looked as though they had lost interest about half way through Alethea's speech, but Cato nodded obediently.

"Yes, mommy. We'll be good. We promise," he said sincerely.

"Yes, promise," chimed in Clove for good measure.

Alethea chuckled as the two ran off, "children. Those two are so energetic."

Maridel smiled, "They might make wonderful victors and mentors someday."

Cato and Clove raced off through the manor in which Cato's father, the mayor of District 2 resided. "Come on, Clove, I found a whole family of frogs in the fish pond! We can go catch them!" Even though he just barely 6, Cato was considerably taller than the three year old Clove, and she had trouble keeping up with him. But when she tripped and landed rather hard on her knee, and scraped the palm she put out to break her fall, Cato stopped in his tracks to help his friend up. His light eyes were worried.

"No help. I'm fine." Clove's brown eyes were defiant and strong in her little face, and Cato smiled. After bandaging her palm and cleaning her knee, Cato escorted Clove down to his fish pond, where the two contented themselves with catching frogs, toads, and the occasional cray-fish until Maridel came to fetch Clove home, and Alethea to force Cato into his evening bath.

"Bye, Clove," Cato called as he watched his friend walk away. She turned, smiled, and waved before hurrying to catch up with her mother on her little toddler legs.

Clove had always found school excessively boring, she was much more mature than the average eight year old girl, and had already discovered that her weapon was the knife, while the rest of her classmates were still experimenting with spears, bows and arrows, swords, and various other weapons. So when the time came to combine all classes for training, she was, naturally, thrilled. The first time a class is allowed in training is when the youngest person reaches the age of eight, Clove's birthday had been the day before, meaning today was that day, because she was the youngest.

As the classes congregated in the gym, a familiar blond boy walked up to Clove, "Hey, Clove," said Cato, who, though three years her senior, was still in elementary classes. He had opted to master the basics extremely well before moving onto more advanced fighting styles with his sword. Clove smiled, "Hi, Cato." The training instructor was going on about choosing partners, and how those partners would be your until your training was finished, or you were reaped. Clove and Cato turned to each other simultaneously, "Partners?"

Cato was well liked among the female population of District 2, even then. And Clove's friendship with him had ostracized her from the other girls in her classes. Her subtlety developing good looks didn't seem to be helping her case either. But, it was certainly clear that Cato and Clove would make a most formidable training team, regardless of how many other young women would have liked to find themselves in the young, dark haired girl's position. With Cato's physical strength and prowess with a sword, as well as Clove's cunning and skill with throwing knives, the duo quickly made their way into a more advanced training group.

After training Cato and Clove were heading into town with their mothers to grab something to eat before going to a movie that was showing about the Rebellion and the Dark Days. It was mandatory viewing for all of Panem, but in District 2, it was almost similar to a night out. They had it easy, training Peacekeepers allowed them to train tributes for the Games without being too conspicuous, they had plenty to eat, the victors were almost always theirs, 1's or 4's. The hardships of the other districts were simply stories. And so Cato and Clove settled down next to each other on a blanket in the town square to listen to their president talk about the rebellion and the Dark Days, much with the air of two young people celebrating a night on the town.

"Hey, Clove," the two children were snuggled together sharing a smoothie with exotic fruit from District 11, "Do you think we'll ever get to be in the Games? Cause I want to be. I'm gonna win."

Clove looked at her friend in the half light and smiled, "You can win, and I'll win the next year. Then, we can be mentors together, and our tributes will always win. Because you and I are an awesome team." The two linked hands and squeezed.

Reaping day was always hot. Especially in the main square of District 2. Clove, now age 13, was wearing a light spring green dress, her glossy dark hair pulled back into a simple braid, and walking beside Cato. The 16 year old was looking dapper in a dark blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts. The friends bid goodbye to each other and headed to their respective areas in the square as the metallic haired Capitolite, Livia, mounted the stage to draw the names from the bowls. Cato and Clove made eye contact across the square, each silently hoping the chance for the others honor was close. Praying for the others name to be pulled. Neither was.

After the reaping the two walked into the park across from the main stretch of the town to plop themselves down under a tree with some icy, caffeinated beverages.

"Every year, I hope it's you, Cato. You would definitely win." Clove watched her friend carefully, leaning against the tree. "I can't wait to watch you win."

"Funny, every year, I think the same thing. That I can't wait to watch you win. You're so good with knives, you never miss. And you're too smart to get tricked by any of the other tributes." Clove laughed, and the two sat quietly for a while, the only sounds the slurping of their frozen drinks.

"But, Clove, what if we both get reaped into the same games? What would happen?" Cato's voice was softer than Clove was used to, almost...worried.

"Cato, that could never happen," Clove tried to sound confident, but found, even as the words left her mouth, that it could happen. The same way she could very possibly never be in the Games. It all depended on the odds. "Well, then...then we would be in the same Games, and one of us would have to win." Clove didn't mention she was struggling with whether or not she could actually kill her best friend. Her only friend. But of course, her training would kick in, and the ruthless, murderous Clove would come out.

After their drinks were gone, they wandered around the park for a while, just chatting. About school, training, the people around the district, their classes. The subjects of reapings and the Games were avoided.

The victory tour was a little more subdued than others that winter, because the victor was from District 7, not District 2. Although, Clove did enjoy being able to wear the beautiful burnished gold dress her mother had laid out for her. She twisted the mass of dark, silky hair up on top of her head, decorating it with golden butterfly clips with razor edges. Just in case she felt like practicing. Cato met her at her door in a matching gold suit with a butterfly patterned tie.

"Why, hello, Cato! Don't you look dashing," Clove laughed.

"Hey, Clove," Cato chuckled, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Butterfly Tie?"

"Of course not, my lady. You look ravishing," Cato returned jokingly as the two set off toward the square, where the festivities would commence. Maridel and Alethea watched as their children walked off, arm in arm, shoving each other playfully.

"Clove is lucky to have someone like Cato. She's so competitive with him. It drives her to be that much better," Maridel smiled, remembering her childhood with Alethea.

"Oh, yes. They remind me very much of the two of us when we were young. Only, there was never a chance of us falling in love," Alethea laughed softly, her tone almost sad. "Maridel, is it wrong that I hope neither of them are ever reaped? I know that both of them are capable of winning, but I'm still afraid, of losing either of them, of see what it would do to the other. Of what the Games would do to them. That training at school is very..." Maridel hushed her friend hurriedly and put her arm around Alethea's shoulders, as she replied, "I don't want them to go either. No matter what the glory. I want my daughter alive. I want your son alive. They can't survive without each other. But we must not speak of the Games that way. Ever. It's too dangerous. Besides, its an honor to be in the Games. It brings our district honor."

Cato and Clove spun around the dance floor, enjoying the festive atmosphere of the Victory Tour. They tasted every kind of food that had been laid out, and eventually retired to a darkened corner from which they had a good view of the other guests, and a good angle from which to observe their interactions.

"You know, Cato, if we wanted to, you and I could have this entire party incapacitated in 5 minutes. None of them are expecting anything," Clove joked, almost maliciously, as she and Cato watched the swirling colors of the women's dresses around the floor.  
"True. But where's the fun? It wouldn't even be a competition." Cato's eyes swept the town square, brightly lit and beautifully decorated. "No. It would be boring...Oh, Caesar's getting himself into trouble again..." Cato rose hurriedly and detached his mentally unstable younger brother from a few feet up one of the tent poles. "Caesar, you can't climb those. You're 11. You're too old for that now. Come on, buddy, let's get you home." he picked his little brother up and set him on top of his shoulders. Caesar laughed, and his infectious joy set Clove laughing as well.  
"Come on, it's about time we were getting home anyway. She took Cato's hand, and they walked back to the mayor's home, hand in hand, while Caesar rode atop his brother's shoulders.

As Cato pulled the light blue, starched shirt over his head and buttoned the last few buttons, he could barely suppress his excitement for the reaping. He was 18. He was strong. He could win. He had to be reaped this year. He had to. And if he wasn't, well then, he would just have to voulunteer. Clove was nearly jumping up and down with excitement as Maridel pulled her hair back into an elaborately curled twist around the back of her head.

"Clove, darling, you have to sit still, I might accidentally stab you with a hair pin," her mother chided, though Clove could tell she was suppressing laughter.

"I'm sorry. I just...I have a good feeling about today's reaping." Clove raced from the house as soon as her mother had finished doing her hair and pulling the green velvet dress over her head. She skidded to a stop in front of the mayor's house, from which Cato was just emerging with a nicely groomed Caesar in tow.

"Hey, Clove!" Cato choked out as his best friend threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance.  
"Hi, Cato! Hi, Cato! Hi, Cato!" Clove cried as Cato deposited her on the pavement in front of his stoop.

"Alright, calm down, Knife Girl. Caesar is a little nervous about his first reaping, so we have to go slow, okay?" Clove grudgingly agreed to her friend's request, taking Caesar's other hand.

"You know, Caesar, someday, I bet you'll be as good with a sword as Cato."

"You bet, Clove! I'm gonna be the best sword person ever!" Caesar's enthusiasm was encouraging, but as Cato and Clove made eye contact an understanding past between them. Caesar would not stand a chance in the Games. His mind did not function at the speed required. He would die quickly. And Clove looked into Cato's eyes, and saw that he knew it, and so did his mother and father. They parted ways in the square, moving off into their respective areas as the had so many times before.

As Livia mounted the stage, her metallic silver hair glinting in the sun, Clove held her breath. She wanted so desperately to be reaped, she was ready. She could do this. She could win. She would win. She glanced at Cato and saw him watching Caesar with a worried look on his face. Livia gave some silly speech about the importance of the games and the honor brought to the Victor and his or her district. Clove payed attention to none of it. Willing time to go faster. Finally, Livia reached her hand into the large bowl containing the girls names. Clove was breathless with anticipation and Livia unrolled the paper and called out the name "Clove Stylus." Her name. She had been reaped. She was going into the Games! She and Cato met eyes across the square, but as her mouth curved into an excited smile, she felt a small twinge of, something. Was it fear? As she walked up onto the stage, Livia asked the crowd for volunteers, and even though some girls looked anxious to raise their hands, Clove stared down every one, intimidating them into silence, the twinge was growing into something more alarmingly fast. Clove would keep her face straight, though. Intimidating. Then, Livia reached into the boys bowl, and pulled out a slip of paper. Before Livia had evan begun to read the name, Cato had lunged forward. "I volunteer." His voice echoed strong and clear around the square, and no one questioned it as he walked up to the small stage to take his place beside his best friend turned enemy. And suddenly, the full truth of their situation hit them. They would have to kill each other. And, so, when Cato turned to the girl he'd grown up with, he felt fear well inside of him, as well. And for the first time, he was not happy to see Clove standing next to him.

"Hey, Clove."

"Hi, Cato."

Clove could see the slight hint of fear in his eyes, and she knew it mimicked her own. And neither of them said another word until they were allotted time for goodbyes. Maridel crushed her daughter to her chest.

"Clove, sweetie, I want you to come home. I do. But I don't want you to have to live with killing Cato. You let someone else kill him, okay? I love you, Clove. I love you!" Maridel was trying desperately to hold back the tears, and Clove was clinging to her just as tightly.

"Mom, I love you. I will come home. I'll win. I will. I'll win and some one else kill Cato. But I will come home. I promise. I love you. I love you!" But the Peacekeepers were shooing her mother out and ushering in Alethea.

"Oh, Clove. I'm so sorry. I wish you and Cato could win different Games. But since you're in the same ones, I want you to know that, even though I love you, I will be rooting for Cato." Alethea pulled back and put her hands on Clove's shoulders, "You and Cato can't be in the final two together, okay? Don't make him kill you." The other goodbye's were short. Clove thought they felt fake. False goodbye's from people she didn't like and didn't like her back. When she and Cato were finally alone on the train they stood in the corridor for a few moments, facing each other. Then, suddenly, they were holding each other close, holding back tears that would betray their fear. "Thank you," Cato mumbled into Clove's shoulder. "Thank you for understanding. That it was my last chance." Clove could only nod in agreement, not trusting her voice. A few stray tears made small streams down her cheeks. The ferocity of Cato's embrace had destroyed the hair her mother had worked so hard to create, but she didn't really care. As Cato moved to pull away, Clove held on tighter. "Just a few more minutes. Please, let me be a little girl for a few more minutes, Cato." Her friend didn't respond verbally. He just rested his cheek on top of her head. The message was clear. He wanted to be vulnerable too. She turned her face into his neck, wanting, just for once, to allow herself to be human. To suppress the killer that the school had turned her into. But she couldn't. Not really. It was always there, a part of her, her constant companion, always itching to get out, no matter how hard she tried to squish it down. Cato had it to. They all did.

"I don't want to..." Clove searched for the right word, "lose you. But only one comes out," she finished in a whisper.

"I know," Cato pulled her, if possible, even closer. "But, Clove?"

"Yes?"

"I'm still going to try and win."

Clove was silent for a few seconds, and then, "I know. I am, too. We have to, don't we? But, Cato, you're still my best friend."

"And you're still mine. You always have been."


	2. Chapter 2

Clove looked at herself in the mirror of her stylist's room. As nice as the golden armor looked, it wasn't particularly comfortable. She twisted, trying to examine the clothing from all angles to see exactly how it reflected the masonry the her district produced. She didn't see a resemblance between the Roman styled armor that they learned about in school and the stones mined from District 2's quarries, but decided against pointing that out to Alira.

She and Cato glanced around at the other tributes as they waited to board the chariots that would lead them out into the Tribute Parade, where the sponsors would see them for the first time. She leaned closer to Cato and whispered, "I'm suddenly really glad we aren't dressed like rocks. We look pretty intimidating with this armor on."

Cato chuckled quietly, "Yeah, much better than District 12, they're just in black jumpsuits. And 10 look like those cow-boys that they told us about in school."

"Haha, and check out 5. What are those? Toilet seats?" Cato and Clove dissolved into silent laughter. Clove clutched at the stitch in her side as the call to mount to chariots came through.

"Hey, Clove, is it possible to die from suppressing laughter, because I might."

"Not before the Games, you won't. You or I have to win, remember?" Clove wasn't laughing now. The idea of having to kill Cato hit her again.

"Don't you dare make me kill you, okay? Don't you dare." Cato's voice was rough, like he was trying to hide his fear. Which, Clove supposed, he was, because she was too. They were Career Tributes. They didn't get scared. Clove forced herself to think strategy, to ignore the human part of her that wanted to hold on to the boy who had been her only friend. They climbed into the chariot, and Cato gave her hand a quick squeeze before letting go to arrange his face into a smooth mask of defiant triumph and cruel bravery. Clove closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her training take over as the horses pulled them forward into the light of the stadium.

Clove tensed and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, poised to throw as the human-shaped targets slid into formation. The knife throwing station was set up so that a target would light up, and as soon as it was hit, that light would go out, and another would light up. But, the target would only darken if the knife stuck near the head, heart, or groin. Clove had the fastest time, and always hit the heart directly. She never missed. At the thud of her final knife in the heart of the farthest target, she felt the two tributes at the next station stiffen. The girl, Clove thought she was from District 8, met her eyes briefly. They were filled with fear. The Gamemakers were also showing interest. _Good, _Clove thought, a small, half-smile curving her lips, _now they can't ignore me. Now I'll definitely get sponsors. _

She and Cato had discussed the getting of sponsors with Anise and Tade, their mentors, over dinner. Cato would have no problem. He was tall, well-built, and handsome. The Capitol would go wild over him. Clove, on the other hand, had a more wiry strength. With her slight build sh could easily be overlooked by the people that could save her life in the arena. But now, now she could not be ignored.

"Impressive. But I think these targets are a little too close range than your usual, aren't they?" Cato had wandered over from the sword fighting station, his weapon still in hand.

"A little. But there's no need to show off. Yet." Clove's half-smile stretched into a grin. "How are the District 1 and 4 tributes? I haven't seen much of what they can do yet." Cato looked up at the celing, coking his head to the side in thought. Clove noticed him chewing the inside of his lower lip, it was something he did when he thought, or was nervous. Of course, Cato was so rarely nervous, it was always a thinking habit, rather than a nervous tick.

"Hmm, they're alright. The boy from 1, Marvel, is pretty deadly with a spear, and the girl, Glimmer, is.." he searched for the right word, "accurate with a bow. For the most part. Nothing really special." Cato's smile was a little more arrogant than usual, but Clove was, by now, quite used to his cockiness. He had a right to it, after all. No one could wield a sword like Cato could. No one.

"What about District 4? Isn't that the boy, over there in edible plants? He's tiny. We might as well kill him in the Bloodbath. He won't be any help." Clove eyed the small, curly-haired boy listening to the instructor talk about what plants in the arena would be edible. They never mentioned the ones that would kill you, though Clove doubted the boy would live long enough to eat anything. He couldn't be older than 12, and, while small, was not small is the sense Clove herself was. While her small frame suggested speed, agility, and cleverness, the boy from District 4 seemed weak, like a mouse thrown to a cat.

"The boy won't last long, but the girl has some skill with a hatchet. She can hit the target in a place that would at least seriously injure about 8 times out of 10. She could be an asset."

"Well, then. We should start rounding them up. Time to form an alliance, I think?" When Clove spoke, her voice was chilled. The killer she was trained to be was surfacing, it would keep her alive in the arena, but what about after?

Lunch was welcome by the time it rolled around. Clove sat with Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, and the girl from 4, whose name she learned, was Felina. Cato had asked the boy from District 11 to join them, he was a tall, muscled, dark-skinned boy with close cropped black hair called Thresh, but he had refused, and instead moved off to sit by himself. Usually, by the end of the first training session, the sponsors, Gamemakers, and everyone at home could see what alliances were forming. Of course, an alliance between what most of the districts called the Career Tributes, was a given. Clove had assumed she would be allied with Districts 1 and 4 from the beginning, but she had also been worried about what that might mean for her survival in the long run. After all, it had been three years since Anise won the Games. But as she glanced surreptitiously around the table, she decided that the only threat posed was Cato. That, of course, did not make her spirits lift. She found herself wishing that Thresh had joined their pack. Then, at least, he could kill Cato. And Clove could most certainly out run Thresh. Someone that big could not dodge as easily as someone her size. She turned to Cato to ask him if maybe they shouldn't try again to recruit Thresh, but something else caught her eye. It was the pair from District 12. They had gone to ever station together that morning, and were now sitting together to eat.

"Hah," Clove laughed shortly, "Look at District 12, allying themselves with each other. And neither one of them looks much like fighters." The rest of the group looked over, and chuckled.

"Well, I guess they'll be easy to kill," Glimmer remarked lightly. She was pretty, Clove thought. She'll get sponsors too. She's just their type, long blond hair and green eyes. They'll be fawning all over her. Marvel rolled his eyes. "You should have seen District 12 at the spear throwing station today, they were laughable. The girl did alright, but really, the boy is amazing. I didn't know anyone had aim that bad! It's a good thing they made such an impression at the Opening Ceremonies, because they really have nothing going for them except good stylists."

Soon, the whole table was laughing loudly at the conversation, which bounced from stories about their homes, to things they had seen in training. Cato found himself almost dreading the return to the District 2 floor for strategy with Anise and Tade. But as he and Clove walked towards the elevators, he felt a small sense of relief. He didn't want to get attached to the other tributes, he wasn't here to make friends with them, he was here to kill them, and he was glad that it was Clove who spoke first, so he didn't have to.

"Felina shouldn't be too hard to kill, in fact, she seems rather dim, and we can probably leave her to one of the other tributes. Marvel will put up a fight, but he won't win, especially not against you. Thresh is the one we really have to watch out for. Especially since we can't keep an eye on him. But, I was thinking. You know how they disable the mines after the gong goes off?" Clove waited for Cato's nod, enjoying the confusion that was playing on his face, she loved lording things over her friend. "What if someone from District 3 could rewire them, so we could use them as a trap? Like, pile all the supplies up in the middle, reenable the mines, and then we have a way to keep the other tributes from stealing our food!" Understanding dawned on Cato's face, and he smiled.

"You, are brilliant." He Clove up and swung her laughing. He continued to hold her aloft after he stopped spinning.

"Put me down, you oaf!" She giggled, hitting him on the arm, "put me down, right now!" Cato laughed, "Are you sure? Its a long way down for someone as short as you."

Clove hit him again, "We've established that you are taller, now stop bragging about it!" Cato laughed as he plopped her down on the couch in front of the screen that had shown them the recaps of the reaping the first night. He sat down next to her as she pulled her feet up as well, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"You know, Cato, I think we really will win. At least, one of us will. Especially now that they've seen us using our weapons. They'll definitely have a sword for you, and no one could keep knives away from me after they've seen me throw." Clove rested her cheek on her knees as she looked at her best friend, blowing her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, I saw the Gamemakers watching you throw today. They looked pretty impressed. You'll definitely have your choice of knives when we get into the arena." Cato looked out the window next to the screen, his eyes were distant. "I'm slipping, Clove," he whispered. "I'm losing it. I don't want to, but I guess it's what I am." His gaze returned to Clove, but she couldn't meet his eyes.

"It's what we both are. Glimmer and Marvel, too. But I can feel it too. We've been raised to kill, and we will. Because one of us is going to win." Then she rose, and walked off to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days. They had been there for just three days, and already, it seemed as though Cato and Clove had never really been human. And maybe they hadn't. Perhaps that had been trained out of them in school, or even before that, as children playing at pretend Hunger Games in their back yards. Cato and Clove sat side by side, waiting to be summoned for their privet training sessions. They were sitting close, but not close enough to touch. They hadn't spoken much since the end of that first day, Cato had, to Clove, seemed rather distant, and, to Cato, Clove had seemed colder. Her eyes had taken on a steely glint that Cato couldn't seem to reconcile with the girl he had grown up with, though when he looked into any of the mirrors that seemed to crop up all over their apartment, he saw the same hard gleam in his own eyes. A voice floated over the intercom, breaking the silence, "Cato Basileus, District Two," Clove's eyes flickered over to Cato's briefly. And in them, he could see a flicker of the old Clove. The girl who ran up to him laughing the day they had been reaped.

"Hey, Cato," Clove's voice cracked slightly on his name, "Show them how good you are. You'll get a 10 at least." She smiled, but it was sad. As she looked down, a curtain of dark hair obscured her face, "I'm sorry." Cato reached over and placed his hand over hers, squeezing gently.

"Don't be sorry." Cato looked at Clove. His best friend, his district partner. "Even if I'm going to try to win, I'm glad we'll be allies for a while. Because that's always how it's been. You and me." Cato's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but Clove didn't look up. She had always been taught that tears were weakness, and she wasn't about to show weakness now. It was only when she heard the door close behind Cato that she leaned back against the couch, letting her head fall back. She closed her eyes as the tears leaked down her cheeks. She had to stop crying. She had to. She wasn't going into that training room with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She. Was. Not. _You get one minute of self pity, Clove. One minute. Pull yourself together. This is the Hunger Games. There is no room for friendship or self-pity if you want to win. And you have to. It's that, or die. Your choice. _

But Clove knew what she was going to choose. She had always known. She was going to win; no matter who she had to slaughter to do it. She scrunched her eyes shut, willing the tears to stop. And by the time her name was called, they had. She walked into the training room with her head high, she would make them pay attention to her, despite her lithe build. Clove strode to the knives arrayed on the wall and selected ten. She grabbed a vest and slid nine of the knives into the pockets, leaving one out. She returned to the center of the room and closed her eyes, visualizing her target, a small knot in a tree in the fire-starting area to her left. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and breathed slowly, focusing on the inhalation and exhalation of air. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the Gamemakers were paying attention. A slight smile curved Clove's mouth as she threw the first knife. As always, it hit it's target exactly. Easy. She hadn't really started to show off yet, and while she had done enough to scare the other tributes in training, she had kept how good she really was wither her knives to herself. She glanced up toward the Gamemakers surreptitiously and was pleased with the looks on their faces. They had obviously been expecting more of what they had seen in the group training, with Clove staying inside the knife throwing area and keeping her targets at close range. She selected a second knife, and walked to the wall opposing the sword fighting area. Her critical eyes scanned the ring and landed on the dummy closest to her, though it was still a good distance. Farther than her first throw. Clove wanted to bait the Gamemakers into watching her every move. She threw the knife almost as soon as she had selected her target. It sank into the place a tribute's heart would be. This throw elicited several impressed 'oohs' and 'ahs' from the onlookers. Perfect. Clove had them right where she wanted them. She threw another three knives from various points in the room at various other targets, hitting all of them spot on. She had five knives left, and decided to really show off. Why not, she probably only had a few minutes of her private session left anyway. She took off at a sprint around the room and threw four of her remaining knives at targets she flew by. Still, she never missed. At this, the Gamemakers' began muttering amongst themselves, and Clove's smile widened. _Brilliant, this is just perfect..._She walked calmly to the center of the room and closed her eyes, mentally selecting a target, a human outline tacked to the wall in the archery area, it was the farthest thing from her, it was also behind her. She slowed her breathing, concentrating hard. This was a trick she had been perfecting before she was reaped. Even Cato didn't know about it. Before she could think too hard and psyche her self out about it, she hurled the knife under her left arm and toward the human silhouette on the other side of the room. Clove opened her eyes as she turned to see the knife embedded in the wall...to the right of the heart. While her knife had struck the tribute's form in the chest, it hadn't landed where she had intended, directly over the heart. While the tribute still would have died almost instantly if it were real, it wasn't good enough for Clove, or , apparently, the Gamemakers. Her eyes flashed menacingly and the part of her that she hadn't quite been able to shut off with determination to win began pitying the tributes she would be using to perfect her little trick. Because she would perfect it. Even if her practice dummy's were the other tributes. She turned to face the balcony where the Gamemakers were seated, surrounded by a grand feast. A tall man with dark hair and blue eyes stepped forward, on his vest was a badge marking him as Head Gamemaker, "Thank you, you may go." Clove nodded her head curtly, and left the training arena, mentally berating herself for her idiocy. _Well, Clove, I hope you're happy. There go all of your points. They were so impressed with you, and now you'll be lucky if they give you a 3 for a score._ When she got back to the floor on which she and Cato were staying, she walked right past her mentors and Cato to collapse facedown on her bed. She heard Cato come by and knock on the door, but she ignored it. He would get a higher score, and, by default, more sponsors. He was the enemy. He opened the door and came in anyway. Clove turned her back on him as he sat down on the bed next to her.

"Clove? What's wrong?" Cato put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Go away, Cato," Clove mumbled into the blankets, "I'm not discussing it."

"Fine, Clove, but I'm worried about you."

"You're worried? You? Cato Basileus, the great swordsman, worried? Why? Your private training went great! You're tall, and strong, and well-built, and attractive! You're just what the sponsors want! And then there's me! I'm not tall, I'm not strong or well-built or attractive! I have trouble capturing the sponsor's attention in the first place, let alone holding it! I can't even hit a target behind my back, and after whatever great performance you gave the Gamemakers, I'm nothing! Nothing! I'll be lucky if they give me a 5! And then there you go! You get all the sponsors and I get none! You're the enemy!" Clove had turned to face Cato as she shouted, and as the last sentence left her mouth she drew her arm back and punched him as hard as she could. Cato's face remained impassive throughout Clove's tirade.

"I'm the enemy, huh?" Cato's eyes had hardened slightly, "Clove, no one can throw knives like you. What is your problem?" Clove eyed Cato with a steely glint, her lightly freckled brow furrowed, for a moment before answering. "I've been working on a new trick, where I close my eyes and hit a target behind me without turning. I tried to do it it my private training, and I missed. It probably lost me all my points. The Gamemakers had seemed so impressed with me up till then. But then I screwed everything up."

"By how far did you miss?"

"Enough. The knife landed right where the heart would be if a human heart were on the right side of the chest. I don't know what's wrong with me, but if I throw like that in the arena, I'll die. And let me tell you something, Cato. I'm going to win. Now, you can go." Clove pushed Cato off her bed and out the door. She emerged nearly four hours later to settle herself on the couch to watch the tributes being awarded their scores. Glimmer managed to get an 8, as did Marvel, though how Glimmer got above a 6, Clove didn't know, she had seemed rather useless in the group training sessions. Cato's picture is flashed and next to it is a silver number 10. Of course. Clove closed her eyes, not really wanting to see her score, but when everyone started applauding, she opened her eyes again in time to see a silver 9 disappearing along with her picture. The rest of the scores flashed by, very few leaving a lasting impression on either of the District 2 tributes, Cato was all for turning off the screen before the last District's scores were shown, having received the highest score, Cato found he didn't really care too much about the two tributes from District 12. But when Clove gasped, he turned back toward the screen to see the boy from twelve's score of 8, and then a picture of Katniss Everdeen appeared on the screen, and next to it, a glowing 11.

"WHAT?!" Cato shouted at the screen, "What did she do? What can she do that she didn't show in group training? I'll kill her. I. Will. Kill her." He stormed off, back to his bedroom, and left Clove sitting on the couch, stunned. _What did Katniss Everdeen do to score an eleven? No tribute has scored an eleven before. Ever. She's a threat. More so than even Cato. She's my target. I'll kill her as soon as I can. _Clove's face darkened as she contemplated the ways in which she could destroy the girl from District 12. How she could destroy Katniss Everdeen.


End file.
